Emails to Old People
Bigger font, bigger farts
The most aggressive people in the world are:
Gym salespeople trying to get you to try a rowing class
The dude they transfer you to when you want to cancel your ADT service
Anyone sending a health-related email to a person over the age of 45
To all the #3’s, I have this to say:
The other day I had to sift through the slimy mulch garden that is my spam folder looking for an email ADT swears they sent regarding my service cancelation. I didn’t find that, but what I did discover made me realize it’s not my brick and mortar house that needs securing. My skin house is on the verge of collapse and no fancy alarm system can hold it together!
NEWSFLASH, motherfuckers! I AM AN OLD PERSON and I have shoddy bowels, big farts, gray hair, and internal organs that desperately need flushing. Fortunately there’s a cure— for all of it!
And even more fortunate, you don’t have to excavate your junk drawers to get at these magic elixirs because I am generous and altruistic! Although you may have to excavate the junk that will fill your drawers after you sip this burdock root herbal enema tea.
First of all, why on Earth would I wish to stop receiving this health news? These emails are the only things giving this middle-aged lady mom the hope needed to combat what is apparently a toxic, saggy, lonely future!
My poor farts aren’t loud because of the expulsion velocity. These air biscuits are trying to be heard over the din of 9,384 YouTube videos, 39 boys screaming at each other over Discord, and some cold-hearted, big city executive falling in love over gingerbread toddies in the Hallmark holiday movies I have playing on a loop. (Yes, already!) My loud farts are basically middle-aged women!
When I paused for a moment and stilled my mind I could finally hear what my loud farts were trying to tell me. Heed the exhortation of the butt trumpet!
Cauliflower! Girllllllllll…
Remember that time we ate 3 Fiber One bars and then went to a kickboxing class? That was funny!
The dog knows when you blame her.
Okay, I admit, this one caught my interest. I am open to new knees! But do I want to grow new knee cartilage? That depends. Can I grow knee cartilage and sell it for enough $ to purchase a beach house? Maybe turn these old knobs into an organic friction-reducing, shock-absorbing P-Patch?
But why is the sender asking me about this unique protein that grows knee cartilage? Were we were at a dinner party and after 3 glasses of Prosecco I started telling people I had a bead on unique protein and to hit me up later for more info? Because that totally sounds like me.
If this unique protein could tighten and smooth saggy knee skin I’d have smashed that TELL ME MORE button in an instant. I’m about to install a rope hoist under these yoga pants to keep from accidentally stepping on my thigh skin. But apparently no one is looking at my knees because they’re so focused on the neighbor up north:
Oh hi, it’s me, your Pregnant-Looking Belly!
At least this bitch wasn’t assuming I was pregnant and asked me when I was due. (Probably saw those saggy knees and knew better.) Why do I feel like if I were to drink this magic tummy-shrinking tea, my loud farts would be sitting me down for a nice long chat?
That dark spot is my personality and I’m sorry to say it’s here to stay.
Oh hey! Authentic, eager men are looking for me? Do they mind that I’m married and have loud, loquacious farts? Also, what if I don’t want to date my age? After I take care of these knees and pregnant looking belly I’m thinking I could bag a dude as young as 46!
Okay, now I am taking this personally. How could I not? They used my name! But they don’t know me. If they did they would know I smear these silvery roots with hair dye every four weeks. (Hi, Collins!) The goddamn tides look to my hair coloring ritual more than the gravitational pull of the moon, so yeah— that’s going to be a pass from me, Pinterest. No gray hair for Shelly.
I like this one. It has a nice ring to it. Like an old-timey British insult. "Ahhhh go flush out yer bladder, you daft gormless prat!
There is some correlation between bladders and flushing, right? But I did not realize my old bladder needed regular cleansing to prevent (additional) wear and tear. I shall put it on the same schedule as our sump pump maintenance.
Ooooh, I thought we were talking about pee-related nighttime accidents. Never mind. Back to flushing.
You know what? Based on the emails in my spam folder, I’m not sure I want the body I deserve. Maybe I’ll stick to my inbox from now on.
XO,
Shelly
Holiday Stress Party!
Doesn’t that sound like fun??? I am teaming up with two of my fav Substackers, Kathryn Barbash, PsyD of A Wonderful Mess and Sri Juneja of Readable Moments for a community discussion (we call it a party) about holiday stress and how to have less of it. Or at least laugh about it. Or have a forum where you can vent about the questionable behavior of all your distant relatives without them hearing you.
The party starts 12/2 and goes all week. Stay tuned for more details!
I Am One Bad Mother
I had soooooooooo much fun guesting on the One Bad Mother podcast to chat about D&D, parenting fails, and how we almost had a foster dog named Steph Furry. Take a listen here.
Bestie, this was inspired! And hilarious. “Like an old-timey British insult. "Ahhhh go flush out yer bladder, you daft gormless prat!” That nearly killed me. And that was even before I knew what gormless meant! (I used the googler for it.)
Loud and loquaciously yours,
SBFF
…air biscuits…😂